


WindScream Week Special

by resett22



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, F/M, Favorite quote, Fluff, Frame Flip, Free day, Humanformers, Shattered Glass, chapter four has some descriptions of gore and mental traumas so..., romantic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-09-07 18:11:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16858879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/resett22/pseuds/resett22
Summary: A collection of brand-new fics I wrote for the WindScream week a few months ago. I was unable to fully participate then, but better late than never right?





	1. Cold - Humanformers

**Author's Note:**

> The first one is "Day 02 - Humanformers", set in a sort of alternate universe because when I wrote it nothing was certain yet, but now that we know how Unicron ended... I hope this helps to patch up the sore wound. Enjoy!

The first time Starscream had been on Earth he had despised both the sight and the inhabitants, though one clearly more than the other as humans had proved to be far more resilient and annoying. While many of his peers were marveled at the similarities between the two species, Starscream was amused by the hypocrisy between the two. The Autobots and some non-spoke Decepticons revered the life on Earth; as if it was more special for being more fragile. Starscream knew better, though.

Humans were just as vicious, just as determined, just as easily influenced by power as any other being in the universe; and thus, Starscream felt no more compassion for them than he felt for his own kind. 

It was why being trapped on Earth was so disdainful. It felt like a punishment, a defeat worse than death.

He sighed as he watched the snow fall. Windblade was sitting near the window, her back against the frame and hugging her knees closer to her chest, adding a warmer prospect to the image despite the solemnity with which she contemplated the world through the glass.

"Aren't you cold?" asked Starscream, standing behind her with his body resting against the gelid wall. How he hated these synthetic organic bodies.

Windblade remained silent, her processor perhaps still remembering the wreckage that was left of Cybertron. They had all tried their best, and failed; there was no shame in their retreat, neither there was any cowardice or selfishness. Yet, he guessed Windblade would have more troubles accepting it, considering her very-well guided moral compass.

He placed his hand on her shoulder, startling her.

"What?" she asked, suddenly acknowledging his question and presence. "I'm sorry, I was... distracted."

He said nothing, but his fingers started stroking her back gently. Not having wings had been the oddest thing; he knew and vaguely felt them in his original frame, but the sight of a wingless human looking back through the mirror just unsettled him. However, the real shock came when looking at everyone else. Those who had made it out alive.

Windblade had looked herself in the mirror and screamed, seconds later proceeding to lock herself in her temporal residence. Her frame had been beyond torn, forcing her to be one of the first to go into stasis and placed into a synthetic body as she was too valuable and necessary for the Cybertronian populace to remain calm and functioning.

"Is this going to be our life now?" Windblade asked all of a sudden, breaking the silence. She tried to sound at peace with the idea, but it was impressive how well he knew her by this point. There was a trace of melancholy and dejection at the possibility, trying to veil the panic that it would unleash a confirmation.

Starscream took his time before answering. He did not like the answer himself, but it could place another strain on her and she had enough of everything as it was.

"Scoot over," he said instead.

Windblade didn't protest. Soon enough it was the two of them; Starscream with his back against the window-frame while Windblade rested in his arms, her head lying against his flat human chest. He had to admit, these frames were far more convenient for what affection and closeness referred. He would have allowed himself to enjoy the moment if they weren’t stuck as humans... and if his own body didn't feel like being bitten by the icy air.

Outside the room, the wind was howling with glee, carrying the snowflakes here and there, letting them fly and fall freely to sprinkle the earth with its cold touch.

It had been a savage combat the one between what little forces they could muster and Unicron. Windblade had had a plan, and it had worked... but not without a great cost. Cybertron was once again ravaged by war and death, its population scattered to the corners of the galaxy. The surface of the planet, of what was left, was uninhabitable for the time being, and those who had managed to evacuate previous, during and after combat had been welcomed on Earth.

But there were those who were too damaged to survive for too long.

Windblade shivered under his care, and Starscream was not sure whether it was out of remembrance or mere cold. He held her tighter nonetheless, his fingers caressing the spot where her wings would have been. He felt her exhale, her tensed body relaxing at the touch and, against everything he had ever told himself, he felt his own pulse accelerating, elated at the thought that his presence was comforting her.

"I don't..." she started, her grip slightly loosening around his chest, "I don't think this is appropriate..."

Starscream stopped the seemingly unwanted gesture but found himself reluctant to let go of her. Raising an eyebrow, a feature he had learned to dominate with some effort, he looked at her puzzled.

"I...," she moved away in order to face him. Starscream was surprised how her eyes were still of the same sparkling blue of her original frame. It was not a color humans possessed. "I just... I can feel your spark, pulsing."

Ah.

"Ah," he said, "human bodies have their spark more exposed," he explained. "There's not much you can do about it, but I don't mind the proximity right now..."

He gestured to move back closer to him, something she did not refuse but remained unconvinced as she returned to her safe place.

"We're both cold anyway," he added once he felt her warmth reaching his skin.

Time passed as slowly as it ever did ever since they had arrived. For being a world with such a limited life-span, everything happened too slow for any Cybertronian's liking. Starscream remained still, pensive as he felt how Windblade was slowly falling into recharge.

It had been a nightmare for many to attempt any rest in their new form. While the designed bodies were not entirely human, they were human in shape and feeling. What was worse, the improvement in the psy-patch in order to pass their consciousness to the temporal body, albeit useful, was more than many could handle. Some could still feel their frames, locked in stasis, perpetually motionless. Other continued to relive the torturous images of being mutilated as they fought on, and there were those like Starscream, who simply couldn’t adapt to any of their new circumstances.

"I failed them..." Windblade muttered, not entirely asleep yet. Starscream sighed, his fingers reaching her curls. He was not fond of the human fur, but hers was strangely soft.

 "You did your best, Windblade," he said in return, his eyes focused on the outer world. "You tried."

She curled even further closer to him, trying not to break into a sob. The choking and human tears were an alien phenomenon for Cybetronians, and when the news of not being able to return home reached their audios there were many who experienced anguish leaving their bodies in a physical form stronger than any scream of rage they could have let out. Humans were so fragile, indeed. But no one denied anymore that there had to be some strength in being able to pour out their hearts, or sparks, with such wailing. 

"It's going to take a while..." he tried to cheer her up, "but they'll fix our frames... and then..."

He honestly had no idea what would come next. It was impossible such a tiny planet would have enough capacity to hold a Cybertronian population, regardless of how few remained of each colony. There was not enough fuel either and humans... well, Starscream was betting it was only time for one of them to try and acquire the technology with which they were made of for more selfish purposes.

"... at least we made it..." he said instead, not feeling optimistic to try anything else.

It was true though. As far as he was concerned, this was not even slightly close to a happy ending for his home and race; but he guessed it could have been much worse. He could have survived without her and then... then nothing would have stopped him of becoming the same despicable bastard from the past.

... not like he had gotten rid of that image either, but he was under... certain control.

"Airazor says that the spring is always better," he said all of a sudden, remembering the blooming season himself. "The weather becomes totally unpredictable, but I think you'll enjoy the colors."

She only hummed in agreement, her processor travelling further into the realm of the unconscious.

“I hope so,” she whispered.

Starscream, feeling his own processor drifting back into another recharge session, hoped so too.


	2. All That Matters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With no Knights of Cybertron to judge, the Lost Light crew returns to their home planet for Megatron's trial at the servos of the Council.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written in August, long before the end of Unicron and OP. I also admit I have never read either and don't plan on ever doing it so, as expected, this diverges from the canon. Enjoy!

The crew of the Lost Light had returned to Cybertron, and while it was the Cybertron they had originally meant to return to, it was not the one they had left upon their brief arrival to solve the situation that Shockwave had caused.

It did not matter much, either way. They were the source of new gossip and senseless talk ever since the event with Unicron. Those who had taken the worst of the combat were relieved to finally not be questioned nor pitied. Although they could not deny either their own curiosity willing them to be as obnoxious as others had been. Megatron had returned and from the news of it, there were no Knights of Cybertron that could exert a fair trial on him.

Guess it was now the job of First Delegate Windblade and her Council. Things were going to get loud and interesting for quite a few days.

"Who is this Windblade?" had asked Megatron upon hearing the rumors of being trialed again. He couldn't deny he was nervous, but he felt it was an improvement it was not Starscream.

As few members of the crew knew much of Caminus and those who had arrived, Nautica and Velocity had proceeded to fill him in on the City Speaker. However, the uplifting and reassuring information they had spread to the crew eventually fell short when meeting the trial that awaited him.

"Megatron of Tarn," spoke Windblade with solemnity. "You were judged once for the crimes committed against Cybertron."

"I was," he replied with modesty. He tried to have his eyes set on the Council, but all his training in war was telling him that something was amiss and if he didn't watch out, his outcome would not be as bright as his arrival.

"That time, you declared yourself 'not guilty'" Windblade proceeded. Megatron could not see her face but her voice gave away enough of the authority with which she felt invested. She was sounding nothing like the femme Nautica and Velocity had described.

The room in which they were in was wide. Unlike the first time, not all the Cybertronian population was in there, waiting for either his execution or liberation. There were fewer pronouncing their opinion on the matter too. As if the fight had become more personal, and they were just the spectators of a final showdown. The light coming through the windows was hitting Megatron right on the face, blinding him to the expressions the Council was having at his display.

It felt much worse than the first judgement and more final. There was no defense for him this time, just his plea and the Council.

So much for the Cybertron he had hoped to liberate.

"I did," Megatron admitted. It had been Starscream's testimony what had liberated him that time. Had he refused to show up this time so he could ensure he'd get executed? A smirk crossed his lips faster than he could chastise himself for the thought in such a moment.

"What is your plea now?" was the question that followed, startling not just the mech in question, but the audience.

There was the faint murmur of gossip; those who had stayed in Cybertron to see the events after Megatron's departure unfold were certain of what was coming next. The Lost Light crew, however, were starting to doubt that this Windblade femme had the intention of letting Megatron go. Rodimus, as the co-captain, felt the need to once again speak his mind, but Ultra Magnus was quick to refrain him. Nautica and Velocity were more confused by Windblade's attitude than anything else. Had her friend decided to become the Mistress of Flame?

"I beg your pardon?" decided to try Megatron, willing to either buy himself some more time, or gain more insight on whatever was her quarrel with him.

"The first time you were trialed, your defense was that you had been a victim of the system," Windblade spoke, "that your actions had been caused by those in power and therefore you could not be judged on them as the context you were brought in allowed no better of you."

Megatron couldn't help but hide his disdain at this, he was starting to see where she was going.

"You refused," she emphasized, anger hinting through her voice, "to accept responsibility for the lives you murdered and send to murder."

"I was not the only one--"

"We are not concerned with the lives exterminated by others," she cut him off. "That is a situation already dealt with and Optimus Prime has already been trialed and accepted his sentence."

Well, if the rumors were true and she had accepted an Autobot brand, he was not truly expecting more sympathy from her.

"I'll ask again," her voice resounded through a moment of tense silence. "Megatron of Tarn, what is your plea now?"

Megatron looked to the floor, the white tiles gleaming due to the light coming through. He had learnt plenty on his travels with the crew of the Lost Light. It was time he accepted what he had done as part of himself, so he could finally move on.

"I'm guilty."

There was a strained silence and his crew had to cover their mouths not to gasp. As Rodimus felt the need to protest, Magnus had been as kind as to cover his. The rest of the audience was suddenly very quiet, looking to the ground as if grieving. Megatron doubted it was because of him, but it hardly mattered.

"Very well, then," spoke another voice, a member of the Council. "You may leave and the Council will now deliberate your fate."

~o~

The Council did not take long in deciding. The trial resumed just as the sun was starting to set. The room was now completely full, more Cybertronians wanting to listen what would become of the former warlord and leader of a faction that had brought so much pain to many. The Lost Light crew took a seat in the same spot, agreeing that they would not let Megatron die no matter what "that dictator-wanna-be" said. Nautica and Velocity had acquired more information on Windblade's whereabouts during their absence, and while they still respected their friend very much, they could not help but feel anxious by what would come next.

"Megatron of--"

"Please," he dared to say, his voice though not denouncing any rudeness in what he had just done, "Just Megatron."

"Very well, then," continued the Council member, "Megatron, in representation of the Cybertronian population, and in utmost consideration of the well-being of every Cybertronian that lived, has lived and will live in this planet, the Council of Worlds has reached the following agreement."

"Your crimes against Cybertron," continued another member, with a softer voice than who had spoken first, "while too terrible to be outlooked, were indeed in response of a corrupted system which would have otherwise doomed to further torture the Cybertronian population."

"However," continued another, "you exerted your domain in Cybertron and as war ravaged on were willing to enslave and extinguish lives beyond our home planet."

"By admitting to these crimes," followed the next in line, "we expect that none of these are ever repeated and that for the lives you've taken, we expect you're willing to do whatever it takes to find solace for their spirits."

"What?"

"Your crew has reported a great deal of good deeds you've done," said another member, "in hopes to rectify your wrong ways and keep them safe from harm."

"We believe," continued another member, "that while the evil you brought caused pain for many, it cannot be outlooked your intention for change, let alone what good you have brought to those around you."

"Therefore," added another voice, "this Council sentences you... to live."

Only the crew gasped in surprise. Velocity and Nautica were even smiling.

"While we have not conducted an army nor started a civil conflict, no one in this Council believes that execution is a solution worth to any past, present or future conflict. We have decided, setting our verdict as an example, that we will not be the ones to end a life for the sake of the others."

Megatron was elated, but before he could express his thankfulness the known voice of the First Delegate broke off.

"You will, however," and her voice sounded as authoritative as before, "apologize to every single Cybertronian that you have ever injured, alive and dead."

The whole audience broke into a murmur.

"How does the First Delegate propose I do this?" asked Megatron, the smile momentarily erasing.

"There is a mural for all of those lost in combat, both due to your Civil conflict and afterwards. You will go there and apologize to them one by one, and then you will apologize to those who survived the conflict, one by one as well."

Megatron accepted this. It was the least he could do and, being honest with himself, it was an opportunity perhaps he had never dreamed of having. Neither had it been an option during his first trial. But then again, those who were condemning him also had a personal score to set.

"Thank you," he said before bowing, the mechs and femmes that had attended to the trial leaving one by one, murmuring about things that Megatron could not comprehend.

Megatron saw Windblade walk away, the light no longer veiling her frame into shadows. She was far more graceful than he had thought; her features were marked by sorrow, not anger. Her wings were unique and not held as high as he had presumed she would keep them. The Camien markings gave her a strange appeal, but the determination with which she strolled away made Megatron ponder.

Had he ever met her before?

~o~

The days that followed were the longest Megatron had ever lived. He had thought that apologizing to the dead first would be easier, but the silence became unnerving the first moment he made a pause. As he went down the list of both Autobots and Decepticons to which he knew he was responsible for, he started realizing that his apologies would never be enough; the lives he had terminated would have forever unfinished business because of him.

Somehow avoiding the grim thoughts trying to take over, Megatron carried with his purpose dutifully, hoping that the living would say something, even if not directly accepting what he had to say.

But the living were just as exhausted, as silent and as torn as the dead. The crowds of both enemies and allies that still remained said nothing more than a mournful sigh and “it doesn’t matter anymore.”

He doubted it was true.

For when Megatron had to present himself to the Council again, time had passed. The gossip and interest on Megatron’s fate had faded considerably, though his crew remained loyal and had done so through the ordeal. Every apology added a silent strain that carried on in his spark. His punishment had been veiled but it was clear now, he was to live regretting what he had done.

He opened the gates into the room to find not the Council members once again covered in the light coming from the sun behind them, but just the lone figure of the First Delegate, standing on the marble tiles like any Cybertronian. Being for the first time on the same ground level, made him realize how smaller she was in comparison. Yet, there was a strange accusation in her optics that prevented him from staring at her for too long.

“First Delegate,” said Megatron, making a small bow. Much to his own surprise, she corresponded him with as much.

“Have you apologized to everyone?” she asked solemnly. Megatron appreciated at least it would be quick.

“I…” would it have been presumptuous to have said yes? “I think so, First Delegate.”

Windblade gave a quick look to Megatron before her blue optics set on the crew waiting at the entrance to come inside. Her gaze met Nautica first, and there was the faint flicker of recognition, her lips even curving into the tiniest of smiles, before she returned to look at the once-warlord.

Anger, regret and sorrow flashed through her optics in an instant, making her wings raise high and stiff as the rest of her frame shivered in suppression of the overwhelming emotions. Megatron would have liked to ask what was wrong, but something told him she was not sympathetic of him yet.

Before anyone could break the silence, Windblade had composed herself.

“You will come with me, then” she spoke, her voice still struggling to find her balance. “There’s someone else you need to apologize yet.”

Megatron was taken slightly aback for the news, but maybe this was the opportunity to discover how he had wronged her. And so, he followed her in utmost silence to the shuttle bay, where apparently a ship was waiting for the two of them.

The crew protested, but Windblade’s word was final. Megatron reassured them that everything would be okay and boarded the shuttle; however, as they took off he started to wonder whether that was true or not.

“May I know where are we going, at least?” Megatron asked through the noise of the wind and the engines. He was holding onto the straps a bit more tightly than he would have wished, but his tenses wires eased at the sudden sight. Iacon was a shiny jewel, gleaming like a mineral in the embedded rocks as the setting sun warmed the planet.

It was odd to see the city outstanding between the debris and desolation.

“To the outskirts of the city,” explained Windblade, keeping a perfect balance while sitting, her gaze focused on the city at all times. “To the memorial of the battle against Unicron.”

“I’m not—” Megatron quickly started, overcome by the possibility of being blamed for that as well, “I had nothing to do with that.”

“I know,” Windblade simply replied, her wings dropping as her voice became softer. “But there’s someone there to whom you have to apologize too.”

They landed in the middle of nowhere, the pilot of the shuttle, per Windblade’s orders, waiting for their return. The sun was starting to set in that side of the planet, the metallic surface bathed in shades of orange and pink. Megatron walked a few steps ahead, his optics quickly finding the monument that commemorated the feat. He could not fathom why build it so distant from the city, unless the meaningful thing was the spot itself in which it had been built. Nonetheless…

“I’ll be waiting a few steps back,” he heard Windblade’s voice from behind him, the last traces of dejection and anger leaving her voice as she walked back.

Megatron stood at the foot of the short stair, admiring the sculpted metal. It was made of purest silver, shining spotless with the faintest light. The engravings were embedded on the surface, a beautiful prayer written by a Camien, no doubt. He was not familiar with the written form, but that was no impediment for him to understand the sentiment. Down below however, almost at the bottom of the column, in plain Cybertronian was written:

“In memory of he, who defied all prophecy and disregarded prejudice, taking matters on his own servos with the fear of common beings and nonetheless walking forward.”

“Till all are one, Starscream of Vos.”

Megatron remained speechless, the words he had just read slowly sinking into his processor and spark. Starscream had missed his trial not because he was hoping not to screw it this time, Starscream had not been among the dead or living for him to apologize because he, Former Decepticon Leader Megatron, was not supposed to apologize. Starscream had not suddenly vanished from the face of Cybertron because he was either scared of his presence or imprisoned for his crimes.

Starscream of Vos was offline and resting, and contrary to what anyone would have thought, including himself, he had done something selfless, something kind, something brave.

“I really doubt you can listen,” he finally started, his voice deep but strangely soft, as if whispering. “You never believed in the afterlife.”

It was true, neither had he until he had met the Necrobot. The mere thought of the energy flower that represented Starscream blooming close to his statue sent a jolt to his spark and left him speechless for a moment. This femme pinned his death to him as well, didn’t she? Had Megatron, through anger and spite, yelling and damaging, pushed Starscream into the brink of selflessness? Starscream? A hero?

No.

“I really doubt you did it for all these people,” he finally confessed, it was impossible his violence had done this. He knew Starscream loathed the mere thought of being like him, but he doubted he would reach the opposite extreme just to spite him. Whether he liked it or not, they shared some similarities. No. Starscream could not be a hero.

But then again, Starscream had an awful tendency of proving everyone wrong…

“It’s not my fault that you died,” tried Megatron to excuse himself, remorse slowly weeding into his spark, poisoning his fuel lines, blurring his optics. “You were never—."

He could not even think of the word, Starscream would always strive for survival above all things. He would have disregarded everything else. What could have--?

“I’m sorry,” he suddenly said, the words almost spluttered. His processor could not work his thoughts properly. He was sorry, and he knew he should be; among the many bad qualities Starscream had, he could not deny some of his value on the battlefield, he could neither deny his own anger at his success. Obnoxious as he was, Starscream was no fool and in times of war that had been greatly appreciated. But no, that was not the only reason for which he was sorry; Starscream had never needed him, Megatron, to tell him his worth to believe it.

No, he was sorry… for what he had done with his worth. For having crushed him over and over again, hoping the following time he would never get up. He got up every single time, each time more determined than before.

“I’m sorry for…” but the words would never come out and he knew it. He knew he had done to Starscrceam what the system had done to him, try to silence his thoughts and ideas over and over again with the hopes of regaining control and power, try to snuffle out his spirit with the selfish desire of exerting superiority.

Apologies were futile, and he doubted he would have accepted them had he been able to tell him in life.

His sight remained transfixed in his name, his mind lost in memories and thoughts that now would haunt him wherever he went. He did not hear the steps of the First Delegate coming closer until she was standing right next to him, her sight as low as his.

“Why did he do it?” Megatron asked at last. His voice was low and raspy, as if it had lost its strength.

Windblade remained silent for a moment before answering, a bitter smile crossing her lips.

“He wanted to show…” she started, her vocalizer emitting a low static, “… that it wasn’t that great a deal to be a hero…”

He heard the pain behind the faint chuckle, the realization that someone would miss Starscream drowning his spark further. Was this the reason for her contention? Did she despise him for his death when he had had nothing to do with it? No. That was not the right question. Did she despise him for what he had done to him? Had Starscream even told anyone ever?

“The pilot is waiting,” Windblade suddenly commented, breaking the mournful silence. “I will join you shortly.”

Megatron took a few moments to understand it was his cue to leave, though she would stay for a little while longer. While it would have been polite to bow, all he could do was to stare for a while longer to the monument that had probably been made as his tomb. As he walked away, one thought was pondering over his clogged processor more loudly than the rest.

Nautica and Velocity had somehow learnt about the events in Cybertron during their absence. How Windblade had infiltrated Carcer, how she had taken over a Titan and had been rescued, how she had been voted as Cybertron’s new leader after Starscream had confessed and been sent to prison (though he had later been liberated by Devastator). At first, he had thought this Windblade femme had risen above the ranks to show the virtues of a world with no more war. He could not avoid to compare her with the reckless police officer later becoming Optimus Prime. However, now…

It was as if, every step she had taken… had he been standing close by as well? Had she been the reason…?

~o~

Windblade let the wind howl for a moment before getting down in one knee for closeness. Her digits traced his name with grief, though she tried her best not to let the smile fade from her lips.

She had felt an immense fear the first moment she had seen Megatron; her wings had shivered, already recoiling for an impact that would never come. It had taken her some time to realize the fear was not originally hers but it had belonged to Starscream once. The brief moment their minds had been linked had been enough to perceive the most prominent feelings that haunted the other. The anger and frustration that had arisen afterwards were all hers nonetheless; she resented the fact it was Megatron who would have the chance to live on and change his fate, and not Starscream.

Having complained to Primus would have been childish, but the thought remained for several days at the tip of her glossa.

“I will make sure,” she said, her voice quivering, “that he never hurts anyone ever again.”

“I will make sure that he never intimidates anyone the way he intimidated you,” she went on. “I promise you, nobody will be at his mercy for as long as I live.”

Her voice had lowered to a whisper, her optics had closed as if in a prayer. It was a vow she was making to him, and whether he would have liked it or not, she would see it through. There had been so many things they should have said to the other, so many thoughts that were never voiced due to fear or emergency…

All of it would be have to be forgotten. Windblade knew that for as long as she kept them, she would never be able to move on.

She gently pressed her digits to her lips, placing in that gesture the affection she was having trouble to keep hidden any longer. Her digits went back to trace his name one last time, this time covered with her love.

Standing up slowly, Windblade gifted him a last smile, having placed the already tattered holo-pad she had given him once. The hologram, though fading, was still smiling back at her.

“Until we meet again, Starscream."


	3. Try - Favorite Quote

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Windblade is alive and back, ready to destroy all of Starscream's effort to keep the people of Cybertron calm. He knows she means well and that is the worst of all, once again she's making him look bad. He and everyone else.
> 
> Yet, there is something liberating about coming out with the truth...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise for the long delay, I have been working on chapter three but the idea evolved and is not ready yet. I was hoping to finish before Christmas, but thesis work got in the way and my usual problems. The missing chapter should be up eventually, I'll try to have everything before New Years. Also, this is not Christmas-themed, sorry! Now, enjoy!

_"I've found there's very little that can dissuade Windblade once she's committed to something."_  

He was the wrong 'bot to say it, considering his own stubborn nature, but if anyone asked, he was willing to admit (as he had surreptitiously done then), it takes one to know one. And, of course, he had been right. Windblade had not just exposed the entire Council of Worlds as liars but had put herself on the map as the righteous hero she had proved she was. That being not enough (and another threat to his downhill-rolling political career), the people were restless, and a furious and scared mob were something to be afraid of. He figured Windblade had recharged sweet and soundly that night (since being in a coma is not technically recharging); he, on the other hand, had barely gotten any rest, Bumblebee had tried to offer at least some shallow comfort, but it had been hopeless.

Next morning was not better. Starscream had gotten wind of what had happened at Windblade's place. It would have been a pity to have her die at the hands of some low-skilled Carcerian (or Camien, surprisingly), but for all the trouble she was giving him, Starscream was only mildly regretting having gone after her.

"You don't mean that," had said Bumblebee that afternoon.

Sadly, he was right. He did not mean it, and that was the oddest thing yet to come. Though things looked challenging, they certainly did not look impossible to overcome. Elita One had yet to know the rest of the colonies to win their support and allegiance; Starscream was, well, still him, but so far, he had not disappointed that many to feel himself at risk. Windblade was everything a leader should be, but still naive for the tired Cybertronians that had lived through the war. In this time of crisis, she would hardly be an option.

And yet, as Bumblebee had pointed out, there had been a lot of signs down there for Windblade that day. 

Getting the final list had been no surprise, though Starscream couldn't help but wonder who was insane enough to want Elita One to take charge, aside of the Carcerians, of course. She might look ruthless but Starscream doubted they were at the same military expertise. Windblade, on the other hand...

"Free drinks with the candidate?" Starscream could not believe what he was reading on the news. "Shouldn't it be frown upon to drink that much?"

"It doesn't necessarily mean she will be drinking," had commented Bumblebee, admiring the night view from Starscream's office. "And I think it's a good strategy."

Starscream refrained his glossa from pointing out how his probably un-real frame could not drink even a drop of engex. It should have been expected, considered she had Blurr' support. Social skills were Windblade' speciality, too and, do not everyone love being listened to and reassured in times of distress? ... Yeah, her presence did have that effect on troubled minds.

... Except when it came along with a suitcase crashing on his table.

He could not understand it. He thought he was on the right track, why his past always came back to ruin his present? Bumblebee was now unwilling to help, all of his plans and desires, all of his projects, all of his dreams, crushed by a suitcase that someone had taken the liberty of gathering to ruin his life specifically. He had picked up the remains of the holo-pads, trying not to crush the remaining scrap in his servos as he went. Bumblebee's last words that night were still echoing in his processor, drowning him in anguish.

"You just have to decide how much," he had said. How much? How much!? He had survived being Megatron's chew toy for so long, he had endured the scrap of almost everyone for so long, he had done wrong things too (and for so long), but if everyone was getting second chances, why was he being stripped away from one? Were his crimes truly more condemnable that everyone else's!?

He had not noticed how the words had actually escaped from his lips, his roar reverberating in the hollow building.

Once again, he was scared. He was alone. He had always been alone, and he would probably continue being alone if he kept his ways.

"You can't cheat your way to victory," had said Bumblebee shortly after the elections had started. "And you can't ignore what Cybertron wants for what you want."

He had no doubt his plans would have been mostly well-received, an opposition was always a possibility sadly because it was him. Maybe that was what hurt him the most, that the people would never see past what ideas he could muster because he was him; because he was tainted with the bad reputation of four million years ago.

He could not escape the past...

He took a long flight around the city of Metroplex that night, admiring both the stunning blue sky and its brimming stars and the neighborhoods that the 'bots had managed to build in the short time of "peace" they had had. A true leader listened to the voice of its people, or some scrap like that, he figured. He truly wanted to be a good leader, but the more he had thought about it, the more he had feared he was not and now...

He sighed as he landed on the balcony of his personal quarters, knowing himself stubborn enough to fight Windblade, probably even win; and then what? Back to the same cycle of backstabbing and lying to keep his plating intact? Was it truly that much worth it?

"You just had to decide how much," Bumblebee's words returned to torment him. But, as Starscream lied on his berth, his optics once again scanning the roof hopelessly waiting for recharge to settle in, he realized it was not "how much" but "what".

What did he want?

His spark skipped a pulse as his innermost desire surfaced, almost choking him though he remained silent. He felt the agony of its consequences, energon running cold through his fuel lines. Why did he have to be such a self-sabotaging idiot? But, surprise, surprise! Despite all his fear and doubts, despite his systems running at high speed, a part of him was relieved. He just...

"This better be worth the scrap," he muttered, trying not to let his lips curve into a smile, as victory was yet uncertain.

The night of the debate arrived, time randomly feeling like an eternity and like a second at the same time. He had a vague recollection between the moment he had stepped out of his berth and was now standing in front of the multitude, Windblade giving out a speech that showed her growth ever since she had arrived. He had feared for her well-being in the hands of Elita One, he had to admit. Now, he feared--

"Starscream!" had said the coordinator. Well, it was now or never. 

He looked at the once-a-City-Speaker for what he felt it was the last time, knowing his move could probably cost him his life. If that was what it would take...

He just would have liked to see what Windblade could turn Cybertron into.

He stepped into the platform and faced the crowd, wondering how others could burst out the words so casually and honestly. How to address to people that had mocked you, hated you, but also looked up to you, trusted you and mean no harm nor desire to get back at them?

"My fellow Cybertronians...," he tried, the datapad he was holding was full of gibberish he must have written in a panicked attempt to save himself. Old habits die hard, they say. "My fellow..."

Welp, it seemed like regardless of how long he had to live, he would have what he wanted at last.

"I'm sorry."

Some peace of mind.

He went on and on, point by point of the same things Windblade had thrown on his table that night, and he would have almost chuckled at the relief that was seeping through his frame now that it was over, had it not been by the shocked faces and the outrage that soon followed. Strangers were booing him, but the few Cybertronian faces he knew and could distinguish were with their mouths open.

He thought he might join them later when he regretted his decision. But two weeks went by and though bored, said regret never came.

He was even... silent. It was creeping Bumblebee out, much to Starscream's amusement. For when Windblade finally managed to "make time in her busy schedule" as he liked to think of it, he was ready to see her.

Less willing to admit it, he was also happy to see her.

Words were quite scarce for someone who he had seen as a nuisance at first. But he had shared so much with her than with so many other 'bots. Bumblebee was a close second but there was a difference in being forced to by loneliness and being forced by the other's constant insistence in what little she felt it could be rescued from him.

Seems like it was more than "a little".

"Good-bye, Starscream," she said, delicately placing on the ground a source of relief in his most trying times. "Whatever comes next, I know what you chose out there that night."

He did not see her walk away as his gaze was focused on the strange gift she had brought. It was certainly unexpected. Yet, as the room returned to its usual silence, he was okay with this too. Even if they never saw each other again, it did not matter where he was nor why. In the middle of a dusty cell, surrounded by the ones he had made his hench-mecha to fulfil his dirty-doing, he had finally gotten what he had truly desired. He took the holo-pad, curious at first, and flicked it on, returning the same smile to the hologram of his true self.

He was not alone anymore.


	4. Deep Shadow - Alternate Universe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Starscream made the right choice by confessing, but what if he hadn't?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! This is the one that was supposed to go before "Favorite Quote". It's a bit angsty but I hope you enjoy it!

 

He let his vents exhale the hot air trapped in his frame, a wicked smile forming on his lips as his wings relaxed at last. He had won, and this time he had made sure that the scrawny little cog would not stand up again to interfere. He could feel the disapproval of his probably-not-imaginary companion but he did not care. He was not real enough to stop him, just as she had not been strong enough.

He straightened, his wings flaring up in usual pride. The room was a mess but thankfully not one he would have to clean up. He would let the Combacticons do it while he prepared the details to announce the City Speaker's treason attempt against his person.

Her offline corpse was still leaking some fuel, the blue liquid tainting the ground and filling the room with its eerie glow. Her optics, half-closed, no longer shone with the intensity that had mesmerized him the first time. Her plating was torn and dented from the combat, all appeal lost. Her weapon, deprived of the energy of its owner, was only mere inches from her servo, waiting for its master to brandish it one more time to fight for what she thought was right.

Starscream kicked the thing as far away as possible, his pede barely brushing against her mangled digits.

"A moment of perfect truth, you said?" he asked mockingly, laughing at her pathetic attempt to soften him.

He stared at her hollow chest, the blue energon pouring vigorously, filling the cavity that used to occupy her spark. And to think she had exposed it once to save him! The laugh he almost let out died in his voice-box, an unwanted emotion temporarily washing over his processor, almost drowning him.

Starscream had to look away before Windblade's defenselessness poisoned him with guilt.

She had come to stop him! She had started this! How could he be the villain when she had attacked him? He was tired of being the one to blame, tired of having to give up everything because of what he had done! He was going to do something right for once, and she should have not tried to stop him.

"She was trying to help you!" Bumblebee yelled, finally confronting Starscream, standing next to Windblade's corpse.

"Don't you see what you're doing!? You're hiding your crimes! Just like Megatron hid--!"

But Starscream was not going to allow, even less from a Prime-worshipper, to be compared with Megatron, of all beings.

"I AM NOT LIKE MEGATRON!!" he shrieked, almost ready to fight to the death again, hoping this time he could take out the annoying voice inside his head, the one that kept whispering this was not who he was supposed to be...

Bumblebee remained still, only his expression morphing into the grief and pity he felt for the solitary being standing in front of him. Starscream had not survived unscathed; energon was leaking through a cut in one of his arms, one of his null-rays was broken and useless. A faint trickle of energon had dried on his mouth, and one his wings was dented where the Decepticon logo had rested once.

She had tried not to hit any vitals, despite her life being at risk. Starscream, on the other hand, only gave her what he considered a fair warning before launching with the ferociousness by which he was known by many. The walls of the hall were stained with both mecha's fuel.

The door, still ajar, revealed the wreckage of their battle, only to finish in the confined space of Starscream's office.

Windblade never stood a chance.

"Look around you, Starscream," Bumblebee finally said, his voice solemn while his gaze rested on the remains of Windblade, sorry that he could not close her optics from the barbarity that remained.

"Do you see any difference between his work and yours?"

He could not deny the shock of his words, his own spark skipping a pulse, the energon flowing through his veins bubbling. Still, he refused to break optic-contact, lest the yellow Autobot had something else in storage. He took a quick glance to the marks left on the walls, each one's attempt to finish the other. The burning holes left by his blasters, the deep cuts caused by her sword, the cracks on the walls as they sent the other crashing, hoping the impact would call the end of their match. But it had been his gun instead, and as Starscream directed his optics to her immobile frame, he felt the faintest flicker of doubt.

His sight returned to the yellow bot as he made his slow walk towards him, his cane clanking on the ground. He was stepping on Windblade’s energon, the liquid tainting his frame and cane as if he was real. No, he could not be real and he knew it; this was another trick of his mind. Clearly, he would not leave stained steps marked on the ground…

“You went too far, Starscream,” Bumblebee sentenced, less than two steps away, his cane pointed at his forehead.

“What?” Starscream snarled in return, his optics barely flinching. “You are going to fight me now?”

For a moment, both remained motionless. Despite the dim glow coming from the ground, Starscream had a good look of Bumblebee from where he stood. He should have been used to the severity of his face, but the coldness in his optics made him feel wary. His wings twitched ever so slightly, a soft air-current chilling the atmosphere.

“No,” Bumblebee replied. “I’m leaving you.”

He pressed his cane to his front, the cold metal tainted with the dripping liquid touching him. It felt too cold, too real! Starscream could feel the slight pressure of its touch, the blue energon running down his faceplates. No, it was an illusion, just like everything else. It was not real, it was not there!

Immobile as a statue, Starscream remained with his optics fixed on the yellow bot, this time fear taking over his features, his wings starting to twitch with anxiety.

“I’m leaving you,” he repeated, his voice acquiring more confidence and anger as he pressed further, forcing Starscream to lean back. “And you will regret this before it’s all over.”

He removed the cane abruptly, not before applying enough pressure to prove his point and how corporeal he could be for him. Bumblebee directed one last stern look before turning around, slowly walking away, his steps being the only thing echoing in the room. Starscream was right, there was no trail of steps as he went, but the pressure of his cane, the energon sliding down his face…. It was still there, still present, still real.

It did not matter if it was pride or fear what prevented him to call him back. If he was in his mind, he could not walk away as he had pretended to do. However, not soon Bumblebee had disappeared behind the door, which remained slightly open, that the known footsteps of his guards coming to his aid were heard.

He could barely place the questions they were asking and his voice was filled with static that forbade him from answering. The world had gone suddenly silent, deaf, mute. They had turned on the lights, illuminating the massacre he had committed, Windblade’s dulled frame still lying on the ground, motionless. Her optics, still half closed, were gazing into the void to which he had sent her, wondering why.

“Lord Starscream?” Starscream finally made out through the white noise in his audios.

“Cameras,” was all he said, making his way out of the room and into his personal quarters for a well-deserved clean-up and some rest. Something inside of him felt hollow and cold, and he didn’t know why.

Or, he didn’t want to admit that he now knew.

The security footage proved Starscream right. Windblade had come once more to confront him, mostly about his recent actions than his dubious past. There were very few who knew about the impending doom that meant Unicron, yet Windblade had managed to get a hold of the information despite not being in the Council anymore.

The Council… an entity that she had helped to form, an entity that she had worked for and made sure it could work towards a future where they could all help each other and reunite as the one population they had been once. The same entity whose unity was now pending from a thread as the Mistress of Flame, despite her differences with the City Speaker, was nonetheless shocked and outraged by her demise.

Chromia had been opportunely exiled from Cybertron but Starscream doubted that would stop her the moment the news reached her audios. The Council, regardless of who they supported, did not understand why he had done it.

And the answer was becoming less and less convincing as he kept repeating it to himself.

As divided as the multitude was, there was little hope for the colonies to reach the so promised peace to their inhabitants. Elita One and her Carcerians were all the more willing and readier to keep order around, by any means necessary. Even her proposals at the meeting that took place shortly after the announcement were more in Starscream’s favor than against. Did she finally respect who he could be? Or did she respect him as an adversary? They, unfortunately, were not as different as he wished they were, but at least her lies had not pushed away the few people that she could rely on.

The followings days had gone by in a blurred haze. Starscream had somehow managed to answer questions mechanically, his state of mind finally visible to the crowd that followed him though unwillingly as time passed. He knew they didn’t love him, appreciate him, or respect him enough, and yet they still were willing to follow his orders, and everything for the sake of progress?

He swiped the datapads from his desk, fury fueling his frame. What was so worthy about being honorable, kind, loyal and compassionate? Was it really as liberating or as peace-giving as their expressions showed? They weren’t publicly allowed to mourn the City Speaker because her act was, indeed, considered treason. And yet Cybertron was quiet, almost as if… empty.

Starscream could have been at peace with that. He could even understand it, loathe as he was to admit it. Windblade had earned people’s affection and respect. In a way, that was precisely what infuriated him. They claimed loyalty to her, so to speak, and yet none was attacking him.

“I did what I had to do…” he growled to himself, unconvinced. Maybe they could believe in those words (and it was surprising that they did), but as Starscream kept on repeating their last conversation, uncertainty grew.

“You can’t keep lying to them!” she had yelled, infuriated by his determination. His reply had been childish, but he stood by it.

“Why?” she had said next, her voice almost breaking with anguish. “Why do you insist on being your own enemy!?”

Starscream had flared up at this.

“YOU ARE THE ONLY FOOL THAT BELIEVES I CAN DO BETTER! THAT I CAN BE BETTER!” he had screamed, an abysmal distance between them as they stood in the opposite sides of the hall. “DO YOU REALLY THINK THAT A HAMMER AND A NEW FRAME IS ALL IT TAKES TO ERASE 4 MILLION YEARS OF MISTAKES!?”

“YOU HAVE TO START SOMEWHERE!” she had yelled in return. “THERE IS NO EASY WAY OUT OF THIS!”

But there was, there always was one, he just was never meant to take it, because it was him. What about Megatron and Prime? Scot free and in command, never facing their mistakes, never facing the wounds they inflicted upon the innocent. Yet it was him who had to give up power and face trial, maybe even execution for what he had done as if his work was the worst.

Everyone knew it was not, but they just hated him too much to apply real justice on him.

Starscream did not answer to her retort, his anger reduced to only a menacing growl.

“You are in no position to tell me or force to do anything, City Speaker,” Starscream spoke lowly, menacingly. “You lost your hold on me the moment you exposed ‘my crimes’ and we know how that turned out.”

He had won. By only slightly but he had managed to put in doubt enough of her accusations. Not because the people wouldn’t believe Starscream would never do such a thing, but simply because there was not enough unity between the colonies to see the difference between what was necessary for the greater good and the consequences of one’s own actions.

“You still insist on keeping these people in the dark,” Windblade started, standing straight yet imposing. “The Council didn’t want to alert them about Vigilem, and now you—!”

But he had cut her off. He had to! Windblade might have not been aware of the cameras, but Starscream had been, as he always was. He knew he had to silence her before any more evidence could be even formed against him and, in the heat of the moment, he had been ready to do so by any means necessary.

“I think you’re wasting your time, Windblade. And if you don’t leave, I will force you.”

He knew how stubborn she could be; years of working alongside her. It was a pity, really, at some point he had expected to use said knowledge about her to his advantage but almost never for her demise.

He readied his blasters, making himself understood and, as expected, Windblade directed her servo towards her sword.

“I will not allow this to go on,” she replied, her sight set on her now opponent as she unsheathed her sword.

“Was expecting no less,” he had replied with a smirk across his lips.

His mind returned back to the present, daylight hitting his optics. The sun shouldn't be allowed to shine so brightly, not the sky should be so clean and blue, blue as the optics of the one whose spark he had snuffed out.

He hated it.

He hated the brightness of the day, he hated the warmness of the sun. He hated the silence on the streets as they mourned now-gone City Speaker, but he hated the most the silence on his mind. Bumblebee persisted in being gone from his imagination, leaving in his processor a void filled by nothing but the white noise of static, as if he were now stranded somewhere deserted and alone, ready for his mind to conjure up his worst nightmares until it consumed him in despair.

He repressed a shudder as his wings flickered anxiously, for despite being in a closed room, he had felt a cold gush of wind brushing him.

"There's nobody to stop me now," he thought aloud, trying to reassure himself. "Calm. Down."

But he couldn't. He was unable to. The cold persisted, now running down his spine akin to the energon drops on his forehead. He could swear the cold liquid had left a permanently fresh stain, dripping as abundantly as her frame had leaked. For the past few days, he had tried to wash it, rub it off, even re-paint the area after asking everyone wise enough not to ask motives for his questions. Nothing was there, everyone said the same, and yet to his optics it was there, glimmering blue fuel reminding him what he had done.

"What I had to do," he clarified aloud one more time, standing up from his magnificent chair from where he contemplated the deserted city in order to pour himself some engex.

The drinking habit had resurfaced after facing the Council the first time after Windblade's death. Not many were able to tell the damage to his voice-box and frame, but his speech had slurred once or twice in their presence. Yet, no one dared to make a comment, whether because of delicacy and danger of their current situation or simply because of Starscream's suddenly proved prowess. Traitors caught by the Council would be trialed, as expected; but those Starscream caught red-handed would face him, and now Starscream had proved everyone in Cybertron that he would strive for survival above all things.

He filled a cube and was ready to drink when the unmistaken sound steps behind him made him drop the content. The steps he had just heard were heavy, carriers of a frame much larger and powerful than his own. The sound of the joints as the steps had stopped were familiar too. They were not friendly, never had been. Starscream felt a shadow looming behind him, slowly engulfing him into darkness. He did not care for the spilled fuel, the energon on his fuel lines was running cold.

"You always cared for your survival only," spoke the deep voice of Megatron, “always being so, so selfish.”

Starscream's wings flared in anxious fear, slowly turning around, his optics opened wide in shock. Megatron chuckled at the display but made no attempt to reach for him. Instead, he poured some engex for himself, and much to Starscream's astonishment gulped the thing in one go.

"You’re not real,” Starscream muttered, refusing to let his voice tremble, despite his wings doing it already. “You can’t hurt me. I know that!”

Megatron gave him a quizzical look, amused by his choice of words. Starscream needed but a moment to recall them himself and realize this was not the first time he faced the monsters lurking in the depths of his processor. However, this was the first time he would not have the constant albeit slightly annoying support of Windblade nor Bumblebee.

Panic rose to his vocals but not before Megatron decided to prove how real he could be to him. The bigger mech rose his arm and quickly hit Starscream to the side of his helm, sending him crashing to the floor a few steps away.

Processor throbbing, Starscream opened his optics, his vision now cracked, to face once more his perpetrator. The image was blurry, layered, something was amiss, but it did not matter. Real or not, this mech was there with the intent of torturing him to the end of his days, reminding him how there would never be a sole spark to ever trust his words, his actions, his judgment ever again.

Just as suddenly as he had reached that conclusion, the figure of Megatron slowly walking closer, darkening his office into blackness, Starscream remembered, among the many tortuous memories of pain inflicted by his adversary, the one gentle touch to his spark.

Windblade’s touch.

The memory of her words was too faint to make them out, but the softness in her voice was a lullaby, soothing his nightmare-ish thoughts. She was not a fool to pity him but she had been fair enough to give him a chance, to see through the lies he had put as his armor. He longed for her company now, now that she was gone, snuffed out by his hand. The gentle touch was abruptly replaced by the blow of a fist trying to pierce his chest.

He spat energon as the pain settled on his chassis, the distinctive sound of splintering glass filling his audios. It did not matter anymore whether Megatron was real or not, whether Bumblebee was real or not. The pain was real, the pain and the guilt. And only now that he was alone, his mind finally reaching the levels of insanity, his spark collapsing due to trauma, it was when he longed the most the presence of those he had shunned away.

But they were gone. Gone forever.

No one would save him this time.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments? Tears? Hearts? Please, share your thoughts!


End file.
